The Wistful Saga
"Put it down, Thomas. Put it down." You stand in the center of the breakroom. The linoleum is cold. It bites through your socks. You are holding the jar. It is a heavy glass jar. The label is peeling. The lid is rusted. Inside is the honey. Dark. Thick. Almost black. "Thomas." Margaret’s voice is thin. She is standing by the coffee machine. The machine gurgles. It sounds like a dying lung. "You...
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